


Post-War Pieces

by Misc_ed (Thorki_ed)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Denial, Depression, Developing Friendships, Gen, Light Angst, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 00:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21152855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorki_ed/pseuds/Misc_ed
Summary: Prompted by this: "okay but imagine this soft ass eight year au: draco and harry have consorted to ignoring each other instead of the usual arguing, and harry notices that after the war, draco looks awful. tired, exhausted, haunted. just like him. so harry, being the dork that he is, starts making funny faces at draco from across the great hall at breakfast." - gxldensnitchedhttps://wanderingfandoms.tumblr.com/post/183369702658/potter-malfoy07-gxldensnitched-okay-but





	Post-War Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> just a one-shot, but I really liked this AU. Ideas for a follow up (real fic) are floating in my head but I don't know if I'll have time to write it.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

He _hates _that prick. Always has. There’s never been anything to like about the brat. Harry was Dumbledore’s favourite, which was the only reason he was left unscathed. Draco felt his blood boil even thinking about the years of hearing Harry’s name echo through the Great Hall. Like he was their _Lord and Saviour_.

Draco exhaled deeply, trying not to get so worked up over someone so completely unworthy of his time.

“What’s that?” Vincent’s voice interrupted Draco’s thoughts.

“Nothing,” he hissed under his breath.

“Mmm. Two, please,” Vincent mumbled back. “Both apple, yeah.”

Draco heard the shuffling of sheets as Vincent turned onto his back. Draco sighed again. He couldn’t even count on Crabbe and Goyle these days. Not that he’d admit it, but he could sense everyone shifting, and not in a good way.

He’d tried to stop it, somewhat. He’d studied the others, saw their conversations dwindle away into nothing, crushed like the autumn leaves beneath their boots. They didn’t smile anymore, or laugh. The common misconception about their house was that they were always dark and brooding, incapable of having fun. The truth is, their common room always had loud conversations, board games, and laughter. The emptiness now was deafening.

He wondered if the others felt the way he did. After all, Hogwarts was nearly decimated, and they along with it. Who would want to stay at a place where their life almost ended? Where they saw their friends die, and their other friends mourn? Slytherin was broken, possibly beyond repair. And the other students… Well, they weren’t very forgiving of the House with Death Eater children.

_Don’t go crying_, _you blithering idiot,_ he scolded himself. His father’s voice was clear as day in his mind. His father, who now sat behind bars for the part he played in Voldemort’s plan.

_Voldemort. Voldemort. Voldemort. Voldemort_. He whispered the name under his breath, the familiar racing heartbeat thrumming under his skin. Nothing happened, of course, as he knew it would, yet the fear he’d felt for years was still there. Squeezing his eyes shut, he loathed the stinging sensation behind his eyes. The wizard that destroyed his life, that’d taken everything from him.

For hours, Draco thought about Voldemort’s death, how he simply whisked away in the wind, leaving everything behind him to crumble.

________________________________________

Harry opened his eyes again and stretched, trying not to wince at the stiffness in his neck. He’d, yet again, found himself almost curled up in a ball when he woke, which was definitely not how he’d fallen asleep. He rubbed at his overly tired eyes and stifled a yawn. Ron was still slumbering, mouth open and snoring without a care in the world. He envied Ron deeply, that he was still able to sleep. Every day since the war, Harry had dreamt of nothing but his fallen friends and family. Tonks’ eyes, hollow and staring, Ron weeping over his fallen brother, Sirius’ body snapping ramrod straight before falling from Harry’s grasp forever. Dumbledore, incoherent and babbling before his death.

It took every ounce of strength for Harry to get out of bed to make his way to breakfast. He was sure that his friends would wake Ron in a few minutes anyway. Every morning was the same - he’d be up before the crack of dawn, fitfully trying to get a few more hours, even minutes, before it was time to wake for the day. As he splashed cold water on his face, he thinks he’s gotten impossible paler, and it makes the bags under his eyes more apparent. They’re dark and angry, making his face look even more sunken in. He hates it, and he doesn’t know how to fix it, which is what makes him angry. He’s always tried to do the right thing. Sure, he’d broken his fair share of rules, in the event that it may help someone, but he’s always tried to be a good student, to follow instruction. Even now, he does as he’s told - Harry, eat this, eat that, talk to this person, drink this tea to help you sleep. He listens, and he does. And it still _doesn’t work._

He hears the door open and Neville walks in to use the facilities. They nod at each other, with a tight, forced smile and he hears Neville close the door to his stall. Harry finishes brushing his teeth, and runs his wet fingers through his hair, hoping it’s enough to tame it. Others start to come in and start their routine, so he quietly slips out before anyone can try and stop him to check in with him.

The Great Hall has always been comforting to him, one of his most cherished memories was being Sorted into a House that became his home and family. _Family I’ve lost_, his brain supplies unhelpfully. Everyone lost someone during the war, and while it gave them a shared sense of understanding and sympathy, it sucked the joy out of everyone. What once was the loudest room in the entire school with shrieking laughter and bright lights, only low murmurings filled the hall now. McGonagall sat in the headmistress’ chair, pensive eyes looking throughout the hall.

It was emptier now. Some had left (some had been forced to leave by their parents), deeming Hogwarts too dangerous. Harry wanted to protest - that it was the safest it’s ever been with Voldemort finally gone, but McGonagall simply let them leave. They didn’t need the full four tables. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw now shared a table, though Harry suspects it’s to put as much distance as possible between them at the Slytherin table. Hufflepuff was more than happy to share.

He looks over at the children left in green as he walked to the far table - mostly ones he didn’t recognize, but Draco’s fair hair stood out. Harry saw the bags under Draco’s eyes right away, looking even worse than his own. With Draco’s porcelain skin, they looked dark enough to be bruises. Though he’d never liked Draco, he could sympathize. Draco had gone from being one of the most popular kids to essentially being an orphan. The news about his parent’s arrest wasn’t a secret, and although his mother could plea she did it under duress, his father was absolutely never going to see the light of day again. Still, it was no excuse to act the way Malfoy did - he was a bully, plain and simple. Either he liked you, which was good for you, or he didn’t, in which case you would be condemned for just being alive. Like Harry.

He sat, waiting for the rest of Gryffindor to file in. Hermione was already there, eyes flickering as she tracked the words on the page. She was insanely fast.

“Morning,” he said politely. Though he wanted to give up on engaging in conversations with anyone, Hermione was the exception.

“Good morning Harry,” she replied in kind, eyes flickering up just for a moment to smile at him. It was strained, but he appreciated her efforts.

“What are you reading about today?”

“Just some more history of Hogwarts, and some accounts of the fight,” she said mournfully. “I was thinking that… perhaps we should publish our own writings.”

Harry was floored by her suggestion; he couldn’t even recount the day without wanting to scream.

“Us? Publish what now?” Ron asked as he took a seat next to Hermione, arm slipping around her waist to embrace her. She smiled a bit more genuinely at that.

“Well not just us, obviously,” she continued. “I was thinking we could ask McGonagall, and the other professors, too.”

“Sorry, but why would we want to remind ourselves of it?” Harry asked abruptly. Her excitement gave him an odd feeling he couldn’t describe, just something akin to dread.

“Look at this rubbish, Harry,” Hermione shoved a thin book in his hands._ The Great War of Hogwarts: The Downfall of Voldemort._ “Look at what they’ve written about Dumbledore.”

_“And the famed Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, was nowhere to be found. It was only after the war that we discovered he had perished. It is still a mystery what happened, as it is unlikely he died in combat, all the up in the Astronomy Tower of Hogwarts while the battlefield was primary outside on the school grounds...”_

Harry handed it back to Hermione without finishing the page. He'd spent so much time thinking about the Battle, the past, Dumbledore, Voldemort, his regrets. So much of his life, wasted, and all he wanted was to move on but he simply _couldn't._ Everywhere he turned there was someone talking to him, about him, near him. Yet, he still didn't truly know what he felt. 

“I just want people to remember… properly, those who gave their lives. It’s the least we could do,” Hermione said with a finality in her voice that Harry knew it would be done. When she was determined to do something, there was very little that could stop her. As she spoke, Harry found himself staring off, not really wanting to re-open the floodgates of his own thoughts. He found Draco again, looking lonely and isolated. Even though Crabbe and Goyle remained friends with him, and sat on either side, it didn’t look like there was much conversation. Pansy sat across from Malfoy, pushing her breakfast around on her plate. Harry wondered if the silence was Draco’s doing or if they, too, simply couldn’t find it in them to pretend everything was alright.

In that moment, Draco’s eyes somehow found his and they were both seemingly shocked. Neither made a move for a moment before Harry panicked and stuck his tongue out, eyes clenched shut so he didn’t have to see Draco’s reaction. He quickly looked back to Hermione and Ron, who thankfully hadn’t seen anything being too immersed with their plans.

“What do you think Harry?”

“Hm? Yeah, sounds like a plan.” He knew it was the right answer as Hermione beamed at him, Ron cheering for her, though he had no idea what he’d agreed to.

__________________________________________

Draco continued to stare, long after Harry had pretended there wasn’t a lapse in judgement on his part. He’d felt the other boy’s eyes on him, and found the idiot staring at him. _How weird could he be?_

“Draco?”

“What?” He turned back to Pansy who, apparently, had been speaking to him.

“I asked if you were alright,” she asked again tersely.

“I’m fine,” he replied automatically.

“Right.”

Crabbe and Goyle remained silent on either side. Neither of them bothered with “no, he ain’t alright”. And he bloody well couldn’t say it himself. So there he sat, breakfast finished to the best of his ability, getting up with the rest of them so he didn’t have to look as alone as he felt.


End file.
